


From the Wretched Pieces

by Bonnie Klyde (BonnieKlyde), BonnieKlyde



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, But also a BAMF when necessary, Eventual Happy Ending, Exiled Prince Roman, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Logan is a Cyborg, M/M, Past Torture, Sides in Space AU, Slow Burn, Space Refugees, Sympathetic Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Sympathetic Deceit Sanders, Teenage Janus is eventually adopted by the rest of the gang, Virgil is a Bounty Hunter, War Injuries, War Trauma, but also fluff, patton is a sweetheart
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:47:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24378214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BonnieKlyde/pseuds/Bonnie%20Klyde, https://archiveofourown.org/users/BonnieKlyde/pseuds/BonnieKlyde
Summary: Mortally wounded during a hostile takeover of his planet, Logan has lived for more than a decade as a Cyborg- scientifically more machine than human. He has resigned himself to life as little more than a household object before Cyborgs are unceremoniously outlawed throughout the planet. The penalty for so much as associating with a known Cyborg is death. Yet his childhood best friend Patton considers some risks, even to his life, well worth it. Patton and Logan set off in Patton's shoddily crafted spaceship in search of little more than survival. When they come across a Prince exiled from a planet lightyears away who may just be able to put an end to a devastating war, they must decide whether yet another set of risks is worth taking. Meanwhile, Logan wrestles with his humanity (or lackthereof) and the implications of a Cyborg's burgeoning affection for his once-lost best friend. Prince Roman holds out hope that he will be reunited with his twin brother, but must the stupidly attractive bounty hunter assigned to bring Remus to their enemy persist in pulling on Roman's heartstrings? In the end, all anyone aboard the Good Ship Sybil really hopes for is that something worthwhile can be made from all their wretched pieces.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Logic | Logan Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders
Comments: 22
Kudos: 35





	1. Outlawed

**Author's Note:**

> Hello friends! This is my first attempt at a Sanders Sides fic, and my first attempt at a fic in general in a stupidly long time, so I am INCREDIBLY nervous to be putting my work out there again. Nevertheless, I'm having a lot of fun writing this, and I hope you all enjoy it! I would love to hear what you think :)
> 
> Chapter Warnings: War trauma, deaths of parents, graphic description of blast injuries, grave injury to child, reference to slavery, allusions to abuse of minor into adulthood

_Iolara; Egen Galaxy. Common Wartime Year 23. Logan Aran._

Logan scanned his contraband newspaper a third time, knowing that he could not have misread the words plastered across the front page but desperate—just this once—to be wrong.

_**DECREE 739E UNANIMOUSLY PASSED THROUGH THE PLANETARY SENATE. CYBORGS OUTLAWED WITHOUT EXCEPTION, EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY.** _

Hyperconscious of his obviously metallic hand, which glinted silver in the sun that poured into the room from the hole in the wall serving as his makeshift window, Logan forced himself to read on.

_**In an astounding display of unity and resolve, the Comprehensive Senate of Planet Iolara has unanimously passed its long-awaited Decree 739E.** _

Logan sighed in exasperation. The Planetary Senate was a puppet legislature, fooling absolutely no one in its overtures of democracy. Absolutely every resolution put before it was placed by the C’Klanii Legion, and every single one passed with a unanimous vote. It had been that way since the invasion fourteen years ago. “Astounding” indeed.

_**Amidst incontrovertible evidence revealing the susceptibility of Cyborg technology to weaponization against the Planet and the human beings that inhabit it, this decree has garnered the unwavering support of law enforcement and the public.** _

The latter half of that statement was undoubtedly true. Most of Iolara’s population by this time was made up of C’Klanii occupiers. The C’Klanii did not practice Cyborg manufacturing themselves, and they had distrusted, even feared, the Natives’ capacity to salvage something resembling human life out of a former person who would otherwise be dead. Cyborgs were little more than very complex machines, and to the C’Klanii, the main purpose of machinery was the furtherance of warfare. Cyborgs were rare, but they were made up of incredibly advanced technology, and the C’Klanii were entirely convinced that they secretly possessed massive weapons capabilities. The Legion was unable to discover any sign of these capabilities—let alone the “incontrovertible evidence” claimed by the article—but they remained certain that a Native would have no reason to create such an advanced machine if they did not intend to weaponize it.

Logan had only ever met one Cyborg manufacturer, and that was his own—Dr. Orin Hoort. Iolaran Native. Common race. Black market craftsman and salesman. Amateur inventor. But Logan knew there must be others. He was not the first Cyborg ever made on Iolara, and there were no others living with him and Dr. Hoort.

But Logan had no weapons capabilities. He was quite sure of that, as he had examined himself to the very limit of his own capacity. He had stolen books from Dr. Hoort’s study on the design and manufacture of Cyborg technology when the doctor was out. He had stolen his _own_ schematics and design plans. He had not found a single shred of evidence to suggest that there were lethal weapons hidden on his person. 

Logan wondered briefly what the dwindling Iolaran Native population thought about Decree 739E. Natives were not afraid of Cyborgs. Native Iolarans were nothing like their C’Klanii occupiers, and Logan was certain they must know that the purpose of Cyborg manufacture was to assuage a desperate loved one’s grief following a horrific death. It is a difficult choice to be sure, even a foolish one, but one that has nothing to do with weapons or warfare. Still, Cyborgs are far from the human beings they were made from. Logan had learned little of use from his stolen looks at his own design plans, but they did offer him immediate clarity on this point. The percentage was etched permanently into his brain: 13.24%. 

He retained 13.24% of his original, organic form. In other words, he was 13.24% human. Barely more than one tenth of his being separated him from a pure machine, a household appliance. It was a fair comparison, actually. After all, Logan existed now only to serve the whims of his manufacturer. Perhaps that was why no one, not even a particularly brazen Native, had stood against this decree. One did not go to war over a mere appliance. 

_**As such, all manufacture of new Cyborgs is outlawed, effective immediately. All manufacturers must dismantle their existing Cyborgs and deliver them to the nearest law enforcement outpost within 48 hours. All persons encountering a Cyborg must report sightings immediately to a Legion Agent or law enforcement outpost. Any willing association with known Cyborgs is outlawed, effective immediately.** _

From the moment of manufacture, Cyborgs are the property of their manufacturers. For the past fourteen years, Logan had been the legal property of Dr. Hoort. It was the price to pay for the avoidance of a complete death, he supposed. **_Manufacturers must dismantle their existing Cyborgs_** …dismantle. Logan was very familiar with this word; he was threatened with it on a near-daily basis. To dismantle a Cyborg is to take it apart and, rendering it useless, and to extinguish any life left in its organic matter. Logan supposes he could equate it to execution, but could something that is only 13.24% alive really die? Either way, if dismantled, Logan’s consciousness would cease to exist. It shouldn’t matter; he has not had anything resembling a life in a very long time…but the word seeps into Logan’s being, sending a chill throughout his body and settling in his chest cavity. Logan does not know if there is anything in his chest that remains alive, but something in it tightens regardless. It is unpleasant. 

_**This decree contains no exceptions. The penalty for any infraction is death.** _

That was it, then. Dr. Hoort would have to dismantle Logan in the next forty-eight hours to avoid his own execution. He would likely want to get it over with immediately after he caught wind of the news; why run any risk at all on Logan’s account? With a jolt, Logan realizes he does not want to be dismantled. It is likely a function of his programming; how could he be of any use to his manufacturer if he had no will to exist, after all? Still, it is there, and he feels it override every internal function, consume his every thought. He barely hears the front door as it swings open and slams shut. He only just registers the foreboding tone of the voice coming from downstairs.

“Borg! Get your ass down here!”

Logan had been right. Of course he had. All at once, he was out of time. Whatever other organic or manufactured instincts he might have, Logan was above all programmed to obey his manufacturer’s every command. He felt his wretched body rise against his will. He felt something deep inside himself sink. He had thought that, perhaps, he might have been able to see his mother one last time before the end.

***

_Oberon; R’Dentra Galaxy. Common Wartime Year Zero. Roman Erilleyan._

Princes do not get scared.

At least that was what young Prince Roman Erilleyan whispered to himself as he crouched behind his father. He was four and a half years old after all; it was time for him to be big and brave. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine that the men with guns tearing his bedroom apart, no doubt looking for him, were the evil Dragon Witch and her minions from his favorite storybook. Roman knew how to fight the Dragon Witch. He had played the daring scene over and over again in his mind. He tried to do it again now, to imagine himself drawing his sword and running it right through this foul beast! How dare she come into his home and threaten his family! If he could just imagine it properly, maybe he could make himself brave enough to vanquish their foes and get him and his father out of this room. They could go find Momma and Remus and be safe. There was always a happily ever after at the end of his storybook.

But Roman could not imagine properly. His mind—usually full of stories, of fantasies, of thrilling adventures—could focus on nothing but the men who wanted to hurt him and his father. Roman did not even know _why_. It was all he could do to bite back his tears and try not to cry.  
There were eight men in the room, and Roman had heard more outside. He had heard his mother scream. He tried not to think about it. Poppa would save her. They just had to get out of this room.

Roman had never seen men that looked like this before. They were bigger than Poppa, and Roman had thought Poppa was the biggest man in the entire universe. They did not have great round and soft bellies like Poppa did, but they were so much taller than he was, with impossibly wide shoulders and hands and feet that might have been bigger than Remus’s whole body. Roman’s brother was awfully small, after all. Roman had never seen skin like that, either. Each of these men had bright blue skin from head to toe. It was shiny, almost as if they were made of glass. Maybe Poppa could find something heavy and smash them with it.

The big blue men had not seen them yet. Roman’s room was massive, and he and Poppa were peering out of a crack in the door of one of his smaller closets. There was a picture that Remus had drew of him a year ago sitting in the back corner. It was terrible, and Roman was pretty sure there was a sword sticking out of his head. Roman carefully picked up the picture, folded it and tucked it into his pocket. He didn’t want the big blue men to have it.

Roman looked at Poppa, who was staring at the ceiling now, and Roman looked up, too, but couldn’t figure out what he was supposed to be looking at. Poppa kept staring at the same spot on the ceiling until Roman heard a soft knocking sound. Poppa didn’t seem surprised or scared to hear that noise. He climbed up on Roman’s toy chest and pushed at the spot on the ceiling he’d been watching a moment before, and suddenly there was a giant hole in the ceiling where there hadn’t been so much as a crack before. Roman’s mouth hung open, and he watched two arms emerge from the hole in the ceiling looking as though they are waiting to grab ahold of something.

Poppa picked Roman up brought Roman’s face very close to his, pressing his lips to his son’s ear. He whispered so softly that Roman could barely hear him despite being so close, “Valerie is going to take you out of the castle. I need you to be a good boy and do everything she says, okay? You’re going somewhere safe.”  
Poppa looked at Roman to make sure he understood. Roman was afraid to speak, afraid that the big blue men outside the door will hear him. But as Roman looked back at his father, there was a question in his eyes— _aren’t you coming with me?_

  
“I’ll be right behind you,” Poppa reassured him, “I just have to make sure the men out there can’t hurt anyone. Valerie will take you to the ship, and Momma and Remus will be there waiting for you. I’ll be with you soon, I promise, and we’ll all go on a trip for a while, okay? Be careful, and be very, very quiet. I love you, Roman.”

Roman wanted to tell Poppa that he loved him, too, that he would be a good boy and see him soon. But he was too afraid, so he just put on what he hoped passed as a brave smile and nods. Poppa kissed the top of his head and lifted him into Valerie’s arms.

Valerie will be very brave and do just as Poppa said she would. She will keep him safe and get him out of the castle. She will bring him to the ship. Roman will hope that Joan and Thomas and the other servants will be there, too. They won’t be. Roman will stare at the hideous picture Remus drew for him and wait for him and Momma to join him. They won’t. Hours will go by, and Roman will sob into Valerie’s chest and hope that Poppa will keep his promise. He won’t. After too much time has passed and Valerie says they need to leave Oberon, leave home, leave his family, Roman will clutch onto Remus’s picture like it is the most valuable thing in the entire world, and he will hope that they will all be together again one day.

They won’t.

  
***

  
_Iolara; Egen Galaxy. Common Wartime Year 9. Sybil Aran._

The blast came from absolute nowhere. It is a fact that would baffle and devastate Sybil Aran for the rest of her life.

She had been working at the bar when it happened. Bartending was one of the three jobs she held in her monumental task of keeping herself and her adolescent son, Logan, fed and off the streets. The bar was a good place to work—the money wasn’t great, but the owner kept to himself, the manager looked the other way when Sybil needed to fish discarded food from the trash barrels out back and bring it home, most customers were friendly enough, and the occasional sleaze-bag sometimes paid extra for her attention. Sybil wouldn’t say she liked the job, but she was content to be there.

Logan sometimes worked there with her, but she’d allowed him to stay home today to study. For all Sybil’s efforts, she simply could not make enough money to send her beloved boy to school. Logan never complained—not once—but Sybil knew he would give his left arm to be able to go to school, and it broke her heart. Logan had such a thirst for learning, for knowledge, and he was smart. Not in the way that every parent believes their own children to be, either. If Logan had half the opportunities that rich children had, there would be no limit to what he could do. So Sybil spent every bit of extra funds she had on books for Logan. Her son would often protest—“Mother, we should be saving that money. You never know what could happen”— but then his eyes would land on the title of a new book on astronomy or advanced mechanical engineering, his face would light up, and all practical thoughts of savings accounts and rainy days would promptly be forgotten. These moments made up the very best parts of Sybil’s life.  
For the life of her, Sybil could not recall the book she’d left Logan with that afternoon. She’d kissed him on the top of his head as he’d been bent over the huge volume, biting his lower lip in concentration.

“I’ll be back tonight, sweetheart; don’t forget to eat something! I love you!”

Logan gave a small, distracted grunt of acknowledgement, and Sybil had smiled fondly as she left. She’d ran into their next-door neighbor’s son, Patton, and asked him to check in on Logan later to make sure he didn’t forget to feed himself. She went off to work in a good mood. She couldn’t have known.

“Sybil, you gotta go to the medics’ tent. Like right now.”

Most people in Iolara—like Sybil—were relatively poor and could not afford to go to a medic if they were sick. There was a small medics’ tent in their town that some kindhearted students of medicine had set up to treat people for free in case of an emergency. There could be only one reason that her manager was telling her to go there.

“There was a bomb near your house…it…it’s Logan.”

Sybil did not stick around to hear anymore. She flew as fast as her legs would carry her—sprinted the full four miles from the bar to the medics’ tent. When she got there, the tent was more crowded than Sybil had ever seen it. It appeared as if there were so many injured people that most of them would not even fit inside the tent. Dozens, if not hundreds of people were strewn about on the yard and sidewalks outside. If Sybil had cared to look around, she would have recognized many of those faces. Right now, though, Sybil didn’t care. She had to find Logan. She had to know he was alright. And if he wasn’t, she had to _make him_ alright.

In her desperation, she ran straight into a young man in a medic student’s uniform.

“Do you need help, ma’am”

"Yes! I- well, no, I’m not hurt, but…my-my-”

The young man—stars, he could not have been much older than Logan—grabbed her shoulder gently and gave her a look heavy with tragic sympathy.

“Ma’am, who are you here to see?”

“My son. Logan Aran. They said there was a…a bomb? I don’t know what happened to him, I don’t know if he’s okay or- or-”

“Miss Aran!”

Sybil looked in the direction of the voice calling her name and caught sight of Patton Pryte. He looked a bit dazed, and his right arm was bent at an unnatural angle, but he was otherwise unharmed—in one piece, anyway. Sybil desperately hoped that Logan was in a similar condition.

“Over here, Logan’s next to my mom.”

Sybil should have asked about Patton’s mother. Priscilla was a good friend and a good neighbor, and her son was Logan’s only friend. But upon catching sight of Logan lying on the ground where Patton had gestured, everything else ceased to exist.

Sybil would spend the rest of her days trying to erase the image before her from her mind’s eye. She could think of no other word to describe her beautiful baby boy’s body than mangled. Both of Logan’s legs were entirely missing—had they been lost in the blast, or had they been amputated before she got there? Sybil didn’t know. His hands and fingers were black and horribly swollen ( _what_? What did that mean? Would he lose those, too?”), and his upper body was so thoroughly covered in blood that Sybil had no idea where his injuries even were. He was bleeding from his left eye. His right eye was intact, but it had glossed over, positioned unseeingly toward the sky.

Sybil grabbed the wrist of a passing student medic. “My son,” she choked out. “That’s my son…is he…is he…?”

The student removed Sybil’s hand from her wrist, but not unkindly. She kept moving as she responded, pulling up what must have been Logan’s medical charts on her communicator.

“Your son’s alive, ma’am, but there is nothing more we can do for him. We’ve given him some medication for the pain; he won’t suffer. I expect he only has a few hours left. I’m very sorry.”

She spoke in a rush and scrambled away to where another patient lay some feet away from Sybil’s dying son. In wasn’t her fault—there were so many critically injured, and they could not spend their time on a boy they couldn’t save.

But Sybil could. She knew nothing of medicine, but she remembered Orin Hoort. She’d been working at the bar when the particularly nasty customer had stumbled in—already drunk—and boasted to anyone who would listen about his talents as a craftsman and engineer. He said there was nothing he couldn’t do. He had backhanded Sybil across the face for cutting him off, but if he hadn’t been lying, that didn’t matter. He could save her son.

She knew that Dr. Hoort would take Logan from her when she banged on his door. She knew he would be cruel to her son, that she was giving him up to be a slave, treated like an animal, like an object, like a _machine_. Sybil knew this. But she simply could not stand by and allow her son to die. She did what had to be done.  
She would come back for him, she told herself. And she meant it. Maybe she would be permitted to buy him back—she’d gladly live on the streets; it was a very small price to pay for having Logan back. If that didn’t work, she would simply have to kill Dr. Hoort. One way or another, she’d rescue her son.

She died before she ever had the chance.

  
***

  
_Iolara; Egen Galaxy. Common Wartime Year 23. Patton Pryte._

Patton Pryte had lived about as good a life as a person possibly could for someone living in Iolara after the C’Klanii invasion. True, he had lost his mother and his best friend at the onset of the invasion, but who at this point had not suffered that kind of loss? His pain was no greater than anyone else’s. He learned to grin and bear it; he saw no other option.

He had not gone far in the fourteen years that had passed since his mother’s and Logan’s deaths. As it turned out, they had been among the first Iolarian casualties of the C’Klanii War. Patton had read all about it later. The C’Klanii, headed by their High Patriarch Cassius C’Klanii, hailed from a planet called Ossiah— a tiny little thing on the outer border of the R’Dentra Galaxy; Patton had never even heard of it. The planet had apparently become completely uninhabitable about twenty-three years ago due to a deterioration of its atmosphere. Just before the entire planet’s population was about to become refugees, Cassius Something-or-Other murdered the reigning High Patriarch and became Cassius C’Klanii. Cassius somehow convinced his people that “Outsiders”—that is, non-C’Klanii—were to blame for the loss of their home, rather than climate change, the far more likely culprit.

As luck would have it, the C’Klanii were more than willing to pin their misfortunes on all Outsiders, and fueled by their anger, Cassius mobilized the population into a massive army known colloquially as the Legion. Immediately, the Legion set out the “avenge” Ossiah by violently and brutally taking over the nearest inhabitable planet—Oberon.  
Now Oberon Patton had heard of. It was by far the wealthiest Planet out of the three known Galaxies: R’Dentra, Egen, and Lyra. Oberon’s royal family, the Erilleyans, had ruled for millennia and had massive amounts of influence over the known universe. It was Romulus Erilleyan that created the Common Tongue—a near-universal language throughout all three Galaxies—some four hundred years ago.

Oberon had apparently never paid Ossiah much attention and had no idea the strength that Cassius’s Legion had amassed. It was a complete ambush, and Oberon fell hard. The royal family and the rest of the planet went down virtually without a fight. King Theseus Erilleyan’s mutilated corpse was found in the Crown Prince Roman’s bedroom. Many servants were found dead in various parts of the castle, though some were thought to have escaped. Queen Hippolyta and her children, Roman and Remus, were not among the wreckage. Many theorized that the queen and her sons were in hiding somewhere, gathering an army to take back Oberon and liberate the rest of the known universe. Many more believed the entire family was dead. Patton held out hope that the former was true.

With Oberon’s resources at its disposal and facing no noteworthy opposition, the C’Klanii branched out and did the same to any planet they could reach. Iolara fell nine years after Oberon. Priscilla Pryte, Logan Aran, Sybil Aran, and countless others fell with it.

Sybil had moved in with Patton at his invitation after Logan and Patton’s mother had died. They never talked much about their lost loved ones. It hurt too much. It was much easier to pretend they had never existed in the first place. Outwardly mourning would not bring them back.  
Sybil fell ill about a year later. Cancer. Almost certainly an after-effect of the bomb that took her son. Neither Sybil nor Patton could afford treatment, and the medics’ tents had long since been shut down, so there was nothing to be done. Patton did his best to make her comfortable until her time came. When it did, she was delirious, begging for her dead child.

“Find my son, Patton. Find Logan.”

Those were her last words. It was a small comfort to Patton that she died believing her son would live on. He would have given anything for that to be true. Patton allowed himself exactly twenty minutes to fall apart upon losing the very last friend he had in the world before burying her in the backyard next to Logan’s modest grave and resolving to get on with what little life he had left.

Life under the C’Klanii occupation became more difficult with each passing year. The Legion was everywhere, watching every move the Natives made, looking for an excuse to dole out punishment. Oftentimes, Legion Agents would decide they didn’t need an excuse. Natives could be treated as the Legion saw fit. At the best of times, punishment was theft of what little money they had. More often, it was brutal violence. Patton had suffered his fair share of Legion “punishments.” He didn’t like to think about it. It hurt too much.

Over time, he had learned to keep out of sight. He spent most of his time indoors, only roaming the C’Klanii-infested streets when absolutely necessary…or when he was itching to work on his ship and needed supplies. For the past seven years or so, Patton had been building a woefully basic spacecraft, but a spacecraft nonetheless. He wished he could reach out to someone with more than his rudimentary engineering skills for help, but one never did know who to trust these days, and Natives were forbidden from owning any vehicle with the capacity to leave the planet. Though Patton may have lacked advanced engineering skills, he was quite crafty, and he managed to design the ship to look like a basic land crawler. If Patton kept quiet, the Legion would never know. Maybe someday he would be out of their grasp forever.

When Patton did go out, he stuck to alleyways and less-travelled streets to avoid Legion Agents. Today, he employed these methods on his way to the market. He was scurrying down a darkened walkway, checking over his shoulder to make sure he was not being followed, when he collided with something cold and hard in front of him. He looked up and expected to see a streetlamp or a road sign, but he covered his mouth to prevent himself from crying out in shock at what—or rather, who—was standing in front of him.

“L-Logan? _Logan Aran_?”

It may have been fourteen years since he’d seen this face, and time had done its damage for sure—but it was unmistakable. Logan Aran back from the dead…Patton had a distaste for strong language but…

“ _Damn_.”

For a moment, Patton was at a loss for anything else to say. He stood staring at this man—this ghost—for several moments. The grief he felt after losing Logan, much as he tried to ignore it, was like a weight around his neck, hanging there alongside the loss of his mother and Sybil, an ever-present pain. He had spent his entire childhood with Logan—his enigmatic, brilliant, wonderful Logan. Patton was pretty sure that he had been halfway in love with Logan by the time that _fucking_ bomb went off. Stars, they’d been _so young_.

Logan stared back at him, his face showing that same disbelief, mingled with quite a bit of fear. Once Patton had recovered from the initial shock of _Logan being alive_ , he realized where that fear was coming from.

Logan was a Cyborg. That much was painfully obvious. Both of his arms were a gleaming, metallic silver. His hands were the same, connected to his artificial wrists with what looked like copper ball joints. His right hand even appeared loose, as if it were attached incorrectly and would fall to the ground at any moment. Logan was wearing a shirt, so Patton could not see his torso, but from the feeling he got when he physically crashed into it, he could guess that that was made of metal as well. His neck seemed…normal…like there was skin on it, anyway; as did his face. Except for the left eye (how had he not noticed the left eye?). Logan’s right eye was the piercing blue that Patton remembered, but the left—the one he’d lost in the blast if Patton’s memory served—had been replaced with a golden sphere that was over twice the size of his human eye and protruded awkwardly out of his socket and over his cheek. The arms and hands Logan could have covered up, but eye was damning. Patton had read the paper that morning; he’d seen the decree. Logan was in grave danger.

Like hell was Patton going to lose his best friend a second time.

“Okay. Okay, Logan, buddy, I know you’re scared. I know that you have no reason to trust anyone right now but…but you recognize me, right? You know who I am?”

Logan nodded slowly, wordlessly, and Patton wondered whether it was shock that rendered him mute or if he simply did not have the ability to speak anymore. But there would be time for questions later.

“Then you remember that I was a friend, right?”

A second nod.

“I still am. I promise you, I am. I’m going to need you to trust me to get you out of here because we don’t have a lot of time before someone sees you if they haven’t already, and you don’t have a lot of options.”

Logan opened his mouth in slow motion, like he had forgotten how to move that muscle. “H-how?”

And, well, there was one question answered.

“I’ve got a ship. Her name’s Sybil.”


	2. Mistaken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Long-term grief, extremely low self-worth, self deprecation, war trauma, reference to blast injuries, death mention

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends! I am so excited that folks have been reading the last chapter, and some of you even left comments and kudos! I can't tell you how much I appreciate your taking the time not only to read my work but to give me your thoughts! I would love to continue hearing from my lovely readers! Leave me a comment and/or find me on tumblr: @BonnieBelleKlyde. Hope you enjoy this next chapter :)

_Iolara; Egen Galaxy. Common Wartime Year 23. Patton Pryte._

Patton could feel Logan’s unease hanging in the air like it was something tangible as he led his old friend to his home. Patton had had to rebuild it with Sybil’s help after the blast, but it was in the exact same spot it had always occupied, and it looked close enough to the original that he was certain the other man recognized it. Patton watched Logan’s good eye wander next door, where there was nothing but a pile of rubble. Because Sybil had moved in with Patton, there had been no real reason for both of them to rebuild. Logan’s face betrayed no emotion, and his gaze did not linger long. He waited until Patton had led him inside and shut the door behind him before he spoke.

“I can’t be here. I’m sorry. He knows where I lived…before. He will tell the Legion, and they’ll find me, us. They would kill us both. Thank you for your offer, but I should go. We both know I am not worth the risk.”

Patton reached out and caught Logan’s hand as the Cyborg turned to leave and gave a small yelp of surprise when the hand fell away from Logan’s arm completely; it had been loose after all. Patton stared at the detached hand uncomprehendingly for a moment before looking up to see the expression of utter disgust and shame on Logan’s face. That look spoke volumes, and Patton wished he could wipe it from the other man’s face.

“Whoopsie! Sorry about that!” Patton kept his tone light and chipper in an effort to communicate how _little it mattered_ that Logan had a detachable hand. “You’ll see I haven’t changed very much since we were teenagers—still as clumsy as ever. I _have_ learned how to use a few tools, though! Come here; you’ll have to let me _wrench_ you away from that door for a few minutes so we can put this back on.”

Patton was grinning from ear to ear as he fished out a wrench and waved it with a flourish to punctuate his terrible joke. Logan didn’t laugh, but Patton hadn’t really expected him to. The Cyborg did not follow Patton to where he was now standing at his workbench. He stayed rooted to his spot and cocked his head to the side and stared at Patton as if he was studying him—maybe he was. His expression returned to a wary one and he looked from Patton to the door and back again, clearly torn. Patton’s expression darkened.

“Logan. I am not letting you leave here without your _hand_. If the Legion shows up, we’ll hide you. I know how to handle them. This will only take a few minutes. Sit down.” Patton pulled a chair out in front of the workbench as he spoke.

Logan bit his lower lip and furrowed his brows in the way he had done constantly throughout their childhood together when Sybil was anxious about money, or when Patton had injured himself in one of the countless silly ways he always did. It was so familiar—so _Logan_ —that it made something deep within himself ache. Metal hands or not—this was undeniably, miraculously Logan.

“If they find me here, you will die. I assume you’ve seen the decree. Any association with me puts your life at risk. You should let me go. I will not tell anyone I’ve been here.”

And wasn’t that just like the Logan he remembered. Patton looked him straight in the eye and matched his even tone.

“And if you go out there, _you_ will die. I’m not letting that happen.”

“I don’t _matter_!” Logan snapped in an exasperated tone that suggested this asinine statement was an obvious fact, as if Patton had suggested he risk putting himself in danger for—for—

For a machine. Ah. That unnamed something deep in Patton’s chest clenched painfully at the realization that Logan no longer considered himself a person. What had _happened_ to him these past fourteen years? Patton wanted to be sick. Instead he plastered on his very best false smile.

“Hate to break it to you, Logan, but this is not how things are going to go. If you walk out that door, I’m going to follow you, and then we will both _definitely_ end up dead. So for both our sakes, plant your butt in this chair. Please.”

Logan raised his eyebrows in disbelief before letting out a defeated huff and dropping into the chair in front of Patton, whose smile became just a bit more genuine as he took Logan’s wrist and set about reattaching his hand.

Well aware of the other man’s discomfort, Patton worked in silence for a while, letting Logan acclimate to his surroundings. As he neared the end of his task, however, he knew he would have to do some more convincing if he was going to prevent Logan from bolting out the door as soon as he was done.

“I didn’t bring you here for no reason, you know.”

“I assumed as much. You still live here, do you not?” Logan was carefully avoiding eye contact, and Patton wished they could interact like they had when they were kids. Everything was so much easier then.

“I do, but that’s not why we’re here now. I may not be smart like you, but I’m not stupid. I know it’s a risk, you being back here.”

“So then why…”

“I told you. I have a ship.”

“And it’s here? I didn’t see anything outside…Patton, if you were to be caught with a spacecraft _in your home-_ ”

Patton thought about snapping at Logan; when they were children, he would have. Logan had a habit of talking as though everyone in the entire universe apart from Logan himself was a complete and utter moron (to be fair, Logan’s remarkable mind did set the bar quite high, but Patton did not need the most basic facts of life laid out for him at all times). But they were not children anymore, and he knew that Logan was scared—scared for _Patton_ more than himself, apparently. So he quashed the urge to lose his temper and placed a hand on the other man’s steel-hard shoulder.

“You think I don’t know that?” Patton asked, his gaze locked onto Logan’s, his tone gentle, kind. “Listen to me. I’ve been as careful as I could. The ship is disguised as a land crawler; you probably saw that outside; it’s kind of hard to miss, but you’d never know it could fly. I’ve been working on it for a long time now. I know you’re scared, Logan, and I can’t blame you for that. I think we’ve established that there are _lots_ of ways I can get myself killed here. I can’t even begin to tell you how little that matters to me right now, buddy. I’m getting the both of us out of this hell hole, and I’m doing it right now.”

Whatever reaction Patton had expected out of Logan, it was very different from the one he got. The Cyborg balled his hands into fists and brought them to either side of his head, scrunching his good eye tightly shut. He let out a high-pitched sound that was halfway between frustration and despair.

“Lo?” Patton said with concern, keeping his voice just above a whisper.

He’d thought that perhaps his friend’s childhood nickname would help to calm him down. Regrettably, it seemed to have the opposite effect. Logan curled his legs up onto the chair and tucked his face and arms in toward his chest as if he were trying to make himself as small as possible. The snarl he let out hit Patton to his core. He wanted to reach out and touch the other man, offer some kind of comfort, but it did not seem like that would be welcome. Patton was also keenly aware that they were running out of time before some Legion Agent thought to check Logan’s childhood neighborhood for him.

“Logan, I’m sorry. I don’t know what you’ve been through all these years; I have no idea. I wish I could have helped you, but-”

Patton stopped short as Logan’s head snapped up, his expression venomous.

“I do not understand why your opinion toward me has changed so drastically since last year.”

It was as if Patton’s brain had short-circuited. He stared at Logan with his mouth hanging open for who knows how long as Logan glared back at him. He tried to process that statement, reach any conclusion that would allow it to make even a modicum of sense. _Last year_? Logan had been gone for the past _fourteen_!

“Logan, I…I don’t understand. Up until I ran into you in that alleyway, I had no idea you were alive. I…I thought you died in the explosion.”

Logan rose to his feet in obvious anger. Patton stared back, wide-eyed and hopelessly confused.

“Why are you lying to me?” the Cyborg’s voice was raised now to a near-shout. “I know that I…I know _what I am_ now, but my brain is still intact. I have my memory. What, did you really think I wouldn’t _remember_ that I comm’ed you?”

And just like that, the missing piece that Patton was desperately grasping for fell into place all on its own. One year ago, almost exactly. It hadn’t been a cruel trick of fate, not some bizarre coincidence. It hadn’t been a ghost or some impossible message from beyond this life. _Of course._ Patton couldn’t believe he had forgotten that comm; it had consumed him for months after he had gotten it. It had resurfaced all of his buried grief. But he needn’t have been grieving at all. That comm had come from Logan—living, breathing Logan. He did not need to search through his communicator’s archives to recall the message verbatim.

**_Did you know that the stars can only exist as they do because they are in perfect balance?_ **

****

***

_Iolara; Egen Galaxy. Four Months Prior to C’Klanii Occupation. Logan Aran._

Logan looked up at the sky through the makeshift skylight in his bedroom ceiling and almost regretted agreeing to take an extra shift at the bar that night. Almost. He knew, practically, that he and his mother desperately needed any money they could get, and that the comm from their boss offering extra work was very lucky—they were running low on funds for food that week, and his extra earnings tonight would go a long way toward making up the difference. Still, the sky was only this clear maybe two or three times a year. Iolara was known for the ever-present clouds in its sky. Logan had not yet learned why it cleared when it did—what forces of nature were at work on rare nights like this—though not for lack of trying. Perhaps the answer had yet to be discovered. Perhaps Logan would one day be the one to find it. A silly notion, he knew, but not _entirely_ impossible.

Logan had been exceedingly fortunate that he had never had to work on a night like this before. The boy could count on one hand the number of things he loved more than a clear view of the stars. Actually, he could count those things on precisely three fingers— 1) Sybil; 2) Patton; 3) Priscilla. The best day of his life had been when all three of his favorite things had gathered around him in his tiny backyard to watch his fourth favorite thing with him until the sun replaced the stars the next morning. He’d give anything for a repeat of that night. Well, anything but the chance to help his mother make ends meet. Maybe on the next clear night.

Logan was so lost in thought as he stared up through the glass pane in his ceiling that he hadn’t noticed his mother enter the room until she’d come up behind him and enveloped him in a hug. Logan squirmed in affectionate annoyance. He loved his mother, but wasn’t he getting a bit old for this? Sybil just laughed and kissed her son on the cheek. She looked up with him through the skylight.

“You shouldn’t have to work tonight, sweetheart. Clear nights are your favorite.”

Logan plastered on a smile for his mother. He knew that all she wanted was for him to be happy, and she didn’t need to read his disappointment on his face.

“Yes, well. There will be others.”

“Not for a long time, though. Maybe not until next year.”

Logan knew that playful tone of hers. He wriggled out of her embrace to face her and raise a wary eyebrow.

“Mother, what did you do?”

Sybil’s face had broken out into a wide grin. “I may have comm’ed Farley and told him you had a terrible cold. Can’t have you giving those germs to his customers, now can he?”

Logan was torn between disapproval and intense gratitude.

“But we _needed_ this shift, Mother. We don’t have the money for next week’s provisions.”

“I know, baby. I promised I’d work a double tomorrow.”

“You worked a double yesterday. You shouldn’t be running yourself into the ground just-”

“Just to make you happy? It’s okay, Logan. It’s worth it. There won’t be another one of these nights for a long time, and I’d feel terrible knowing you missed it. You can make it up to me next week if you want to. I’m just sorry that I won’t be able to join you.”

Logan knew that his mother wished that he would forget his responsibilities and act like a kid once in a while, even though he was growing older now and he should be helping whenever he could. Still, it was hard to argue when his mother smiled like that, and when there was a night of unobstructed stargazing lying ahead of him.

“I ran into Patton earlier and told him to come over,” Sybil continued. “Priscilla has to work tonight, too, so it will just be the two of you tonight. Have fun for us, okay?”

And even though he was getting a bit old for it, Logan flung his arms around her in what was perhaps the tightest hug he had ever given.

“Thank you,” he whispered into her hair.

“No thanks necessary, sweetheart. I might be back to catch the last of it before the sun comes up. I’ll see you later, okay? I love you.”

“Love you too,” Logan called excitedly over his shoulder. He had already released Sybil and was bounding out of his room toward the back door.

When he reached the yard, he was hardly surprised to see that Patton was already there. Or that he had brought a comically large blanket with him and more food than it was responsible to consume in one night. But Logan could not bring himself to lecture him tonight.

Patton Pryte had been Logan’s next-door neighbor, and his best and only friend, for his entire life. Their mothers had practically raised the two of them together. Logan was a difficult person to get to know, but Patton had succeeded by sheer force of will.

“Clear night, Lo!” he’d chirped excitedly without preamble. “You excited?! I know I am!”

Logan strongly suspected that Patton was not nearly as excited about the seeing the stars as he was. He was likely just humoring Logan’s quirks as he always did. But Logan didn’t mind. Patton had a remarkable way of taking all of the strange things about Logan and making them seem normal, like _positive_ things. Logan knew that he was odd, but he didn’t have to feel that way around Patton; Patton was his safe harbor.

“Of course. I can’t believe my mother got me out of work for this, though,” he said as he settled himself on the blanket beside his friend.

“She just wants you to make you happy. The best thing you can do for her is to just let yourself be happy, Lo. Even if it’s just for tonight”

Patton had rested his hand gently on top of Logan’s as he’d spoke; Logan was not sure whether Patton had even noticed. _Logan_ noticed. He always noticed. Patton was a very physically affectionate person. His friend was always throwing his arms around him, grabbing his hand, entangling their legs together. So Logan should be used to the way that his heart stuttered whenever these things happened. Logan had never complained, though…it was never entirely unpleasant.

Logan cleared his throat in an effort to clear his mind.

“I know, you’re right. Thanks for being out here with me, Patton. You don’t have to stay all night, you know.”

“Are you kidding me? I wouldn’t miss it! This night is going to be _stellar_!”

Logan felt the corners of his mouth tip up in spite of himself at the terrible joke, just as they always did.

“Very well, then.”

Logan laid flat on his back to allow himself to take in as much of the sky as possible. Patton followed suit, and the two of them fell into an easy silence. Patton had not moved his hand.

Logan stared up at the sky, eyes wide, trying not blink; he did not want to lose out on a single moment. He had always been captivated by the stars. He spent countless hours reading about them, studying them, poring over images of them in the books his mother bought for him. But nothing compared to a bona fide clear night. Logan did not have the words to articulate the thrill he felt just looking at the real thing, witnessing for himself the normally dull and dismal sky light up with trillions of magnificent celestial bodies. It felt like a gift, gazing up at the stars while all of the fascinating information he had hungrily gathered over the years ran through his head. He reveled in feeling so small.

“What’s that, Lo?”

“Hm?”

Logan had not realized he had said anything, but realized he must have been so caught up in his own thoughts that he’d spoken the last fact he’d been thinking about aloud.

Without tearing his eyes from the stars, he replied “Did you know that the stars can only exist as they do because they are in perfect balance?”

“No, I didn’t. What does that mean, ‘perfect balance’?”

Logan felt a wide grin spread out on his face as he set about teaching Patton what he knew.

“Stars are actually in constant conflict with themselves. The collective gravity of all the mass of a star is continuously pulling it inward. If there was nothing to stop it, the star would just continue collapsing for millions of years until it became its smallest possible size. But there is a pressure pushing back against the gravitational collapse of the star—that pressure is light. The nuclear fusion at the core of a star generates a tremendous amount of energy. The photons push outward as they make their way from inside the star to reach the surface, and it can take them 100,000 years or more to get there. When stars become more luminous, they expand outward becoming red giants. I’ve always thought the concept of light and what it is capable of doing is one of the most fascinating things there is.”

Logan drew in a breath to continue but stopped short before he realized he’d been rambling on. He could have answered Patton’s question with far fewer extraneous facts. He’d been excited to share what he knew, but he was aware that no one else found any of this interesting. Patton should not have to humor this incessant prattling. He winced.

“Sorry. I…I know I get a little too carried away at times.”

Logan felt Patton’s hand tighten around his own. Embarrassed but curious, Logan reluctantly turned his head to face his friend, finding that the other boy had turned over onto his side to look directly at him. Patton’s face was ethereal in this unusual light, his expression soft and kind and s _omething else_ that Logan couldn’t name. All at once, the stars were no longer Logan’s favorite sight.

“Hey,” Patton’s voice was so soft it was barely above a whisper, but Logan hung on every word, “I don’t know when you got it into your head that the things you say aren’t worth listening to. Do you have any idea what it’s like to be let into that wonderful mind of yours?”

Logan bit his lip, confused. “I…I’m just regurgitating some facts that I’ve read that I find interesting.”

“That’s not what I mean. I’ve known you our whole lives, Logan, and I’ve only seen you like that a handful of times. You weren’t overthinking, you weren’t torturing yourself over saying the right things; you were just _you_. I love how passionate you are about the things you love, Logan. I wish you didn’t think you had to hide that from me. I wish you could see what I see.”

Logan felt his chest tighten and something intangible rise in his throat so that it was difficult to get any words out, not that he had many in response.

“And what’s that?” was all he could choke out. He wished his tone had been a bit less desperate, but he felt an overwhelming need to know this answer.

“That you’re _wonderful_ , Lo. Exactly as you are.”

Patton reached out with his free hand and rested it gently against the side of Logan’s face, and something inside of Logan _ached_. All thoughts fled his mind—he was no longer thinking about stars or light. He was not thinking about money or his painful social awkwardness or how in the world they had arrived at this point. For the first time in his entire life his mind was occupied by one thing alone, and that was Patton—Patton’s hand on his face, Patton’s fingers intertwined with his own, Patton’s earnest eyes filled with that un-nameable emotion. Patton’s words that had lifted a weight from Logan’s chest like _magic_. Something in Logan’s head was ringing with anticipation. As the two continued to lock eyes, something in him believed he was about to be kissed. What a foolish notion.

Snapping back to his senses, Logan coughed to banish the inexplicable tension from the air and pulled himself upright into a seated position.

“I hadn’t realized…I’m sorry I…I don’t know what to say.”

Patton’s beautiful bright smile was back on his face in an instant, fond and unbothered.

“Don’t say anything, silly. Now lie back down; the night’s not nearly over.”

They settled back into their easy comradery, and if Logan was just the slightest bit disappointed in himself, what did it really matter? They had all the time in the world to figure out…whatever that had been. For now it was enough that Patton truly did not find his personality grating, that he did not have to feel like a burden in his company.

So what if he was lying to himself? It was easier that way.

***

_Iolara; Egen Galaxy. Common Wartime Year 23. Patton Pryte._

Patton felt as if he were on the verge of a nervous breakdown. That comm _had_ come from Logan last year. He recalled very clearly now the moment that he’d received it. It was as normal a day as he had ever had these days. He’d spent most of it working on the ship. He was just preparing for dinner when his communicator went off, which was strange. No one comm’ed him anymore.

He curiously pulled his communicator out of his pocket, expecting to see an Legion “public service announcement” or an incorrect transmission. It was, in fact, a message from an unknown source, but the words were enough to knock all the breath out of him.

**_Did you know that the stars can only exist as they do because they are in perfect balance?_ **

And who else would have sent him those words, exactly as they had been spoken on the night of what was perhaps Patton’s most cherished memory? What explanation could there _possibly be_?

He had agonized over that comm for hours, pacing around his home like a madman. _Logan Aran is dead_ , he thought to himself over and over again, trying to tether himself to reality, to sanity. _You saw his body after the blast. He is **buried in the backyard**. He didn’t comm you. He can’t comm **anyone** because he’s **dead.** Logan is gone. He’s dead; he’s dead; he’s dead._

He carried on like that for most of the day until he couldn’t take it any longer. He at least had to know who it was who comm’ed him. He had to see a name pop up on that screen that was not. Logan’s if he was going to accept that this was some cruel cosmic joke. If he was going to convince himself that there was anyone in the universe who would ever say those words to him, even by accident. He took out his communicator and returned the comm.

**_Who are you?_ **

Patton was mildly surprised when the answer came almost instantaneously.

**_Orin Hoort. Who the hell are you?_ **

Orin Hoort…Patton knew that name. Sybil had complained about the surly, drunken patron at the bar. She had even warned Patton to steer clear of the doctor if he ever crossed paths with him. He did not know the man personally, but he’d had him pointed out to him and had seen him around the market. Dr. Hoort was rumored to be a genius in a lot of fields…including astronomy. Ah. Okay. But…just to be sure…

**_I’m Patton Pryte, Dr. Hoort. I’m sorry; we’ve never officially met. I think you just comm’ed me? Something about stars?_ **

It was about an hour before Patton received the next comm, and it was more or less what he’d expected.

**_That wasn’t meant for you. Wrong comm._ **

It had been a bizarre accident after all, but Patton could not quite push the incident from his mind. Patton didn’t know what he believed about what happens when people die, but after that day he occasionally liked to think to himself that the wrong comm was Logan’s way of reaching out from wherever the dead go, that he wanted Patton to know he was thinking of him. It was a small comfort. Over time, he had stopped dwelling on it, stopped thinking about it most of the time. It was easier that way.

Patton broke free of his tortured reverie to meet Logan’s outraged stare. It _had_ been a message from Logan after all, and Logan had been _alive._ What’s more, he’d been close by. Dr. Hoort lived, what, five miles from here? Patton could not even begin to process all of the horrible consequences his mistake might have had. But _how could he have known?_

“Logan. You have to believe me. I thought you were dead. The last time I saw you…I really, truly believed I was looking at your corpse. Your mom she—she buried you outside. I sit in front of your grave all the time, I…I should have questioned that comm. I shouldn’t have accepted it as a coincidence. But I did. I am so, _so_ sorry. You’ve got to understand. I couldn’t let myself hope that you were out there somehow. If I did, and I found out I was wrong, it would have broken me. It’s no excuse, but it’s the truth. If I knew you were out there, I would have come for you. I _would have_.”

Patton didn’t know at what point during his speech he’d started crying, but he was sobbing by the end. Either his words or his tears seemed to give Logan pause, but the Cyborg seemed far from pacified. He opened his mouth to speak, but he did not get the chance to before they were interrupted by the sound of someone pounding on the front door.

“C’Klanii Legion! Open up!”

Patton turned to Logan with pleading eyes. “Please, _please_ come with me. I can get you out of here. If you want nothing more to do with me after that, I get it. But you need to get out of here and off-planet _now_.”

Logan met his eyes with the resigned expression of a person quite used to being left without any real choice.

“Fine. What do you need me to do?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter is heavily (re: exclusively) focused on Patton and Logan, but I really needed to get them out of Iolara before the plot could move forward. I promise there will be plenty more Roman in the chapters to come, and the others are coming as well! Leave me a comment and let me know what you think so far! I'm also happy to answer any questions (sans spoilers of course) you have, either here or on Tumblr. Find me @BonnieBelleKlyde. I hope you all have a wonderful week!


	3. Found

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! I'm so sorry for the slow update. Life has really gotten in the way of writing for the past few weeks, but I'm back, and I expect to return to regular updates! Please read the chapter warnings below. I hope you enjoy the next installment. Leave a comment and let me know your thoughts!
> 
> Chapter Warnings: War trauma, gun violence, allusion to child abuse, abuse, torture, solitary confinement, description of violent injuries, death mention.

_ Iolara; Egen Galaxy. Common Wartime Year 23. Logan Aran. _

Seconds after Logan had spoken, the C’Klanii Legion Agents outside kicked in the front door. Every Agent was monstrously tall, at least three times the height of the average Native. Their smooth, nearly translucent skin was an ice-blue, and Logan had never come into physical contact with a C’Klanii person, Agent or otherwise, but he had the distinct impression that a simple touch could cause frostbite. Their eyes were black as coal, as were their fingernails and the markings on their skin—tattoos maybe? Logan did not know. They wore no armor—likely because they had no need for it. On a normal day, the mere sight of these creatures was enough to paralyze one with terror. Now, with bared teeth and guns at the ready, they were the stuff of nightmares. There was no time for a plan. Every instinct in Logan’s body, whether they were human or artificial, screamed at him to _run_.

“Out the back door!” Patton screamed, and Logan knew it was because he needed to be loud enough for the Cyborg to hear him over the thunderous growls of the C’Klanii. 

Logan followed Patton to the back of the house, using his metallic body as a shield for his companion as bullets ricocheted off his back and limbs. It was a veritable miracle that nothing hit his head. The C’Klanii’s legs were far longer than theirs—these things were so much faster than he and Patton were. Their only advantage was that they had been closer to the back of the house when their enemies had broken in. One of the Agents behind him was shouting something, but Logan could not register any words. All of his energy was focused on willing his legs to push on faster.

They reached Patton’s massive land crawler…which was apparently a spaceship…faster than they should have been able to, thanks to pure adrenaline and survival instinct. Patton opened a small door on the underside of the ship.

“Move! We can’t let them in behind us!” Patton ordered urgently as a bullet sailed by, dangerously close to his left ear.

Logan needed no further prompting. He grabbed hold of the metal bars inside the door and hoisted himself into the ship, Patton following close behind and slamming the door shut directly onto the wrist of a C’Klanii gunman, severing the creature’s hand entirely. More of the injured Agent’s compatriots must have joined him an instant later, because Logan jumped at the distinct, high-pitched C’Klanii war cry, and by the sound of it, there were at least a dozen creatures taking part. The sound was swiftly followed by banging underneath the ship, and the entire vehicle began to rock with the force of the C’Klanii’s impossibly strong hands below. They were trying to tip them over—to make it impossible for them to take off.

Patton wasted no time in dashing to what must have been the cockpit toward the front of the ship. He busied himself pushing myriad buttons and pulling a lever that sounded like it started up an engine of some sort as Logan looked on helplessly.

“God, I hope this works,” Logan heard Patton mutter to himself as he grabbed hold of the steering controls.

“You don’t know if it _works_?!” Logan cried out in a half-crazed, desperate tone.

“Do you have any better ideas?” Patton snapped back.

And Logan didn’t, so he stayed quiet. Logan was far from the praying type, but he put all of his energy into willing this giant hunk of metal to _move_.

And it did. With a jolt and a worrying creak coming from who-knew-where, the ship began to roll forward, still being jostled around by the C’Klanii agents, who were now running to keep pace with them.

“Come on, Sybil, that’a girl, let’s go,” Patton was muttering as he fiddled with the controls. “Come on, come on, come on, let’s get you airborne now!” 

Patton yanked on the steering mechanism, and Logan stumbled backward as the ship launched directly into the air. He caught sight of the ground below out a nearby window and saw the Agents, who had just moments before been about to topple them over and destroy any hope they had of escaping, now firing their guns haphazardly into the air and achieving nothing, as the ship was blessedly fast and they were already well out of range.

Patton was laughing with relief and perhaps a bit of insanity from the sound of it. “We did it! Oh my god, we’re going to get out of this hellhole. I can’t _believe_ we pulled it off.”

Logan could not share in all of Patton’s relief. “They will come after us,” he warned.

“Sure they will! But we’ll be long gone by then! I spent a lot of time making sure this thing was fast.”

“You were not even sure that it would _fly_ ,” Logan countered skeptically. He was so afraid. If they caught him and took him back to Dr. Hoort…

“Yeah, but it _does,_ which means it _works_!” Patton responded, his survival mode apparently switched off, as his tone had returned to the chipper, carefree one that Logan remembered from childhood. “And you can’t tell me you didn’t feel how fast she took off.”

Logan did not answer, but gave a curt nod that Patton could not have seen, as his eyes were still trained on the space in front of them. They would likely break free of the atmosphere soon. They were about to flee Iolara, likely for good. Logan’s thoughts ventured against his will to his mother and to Priscilla. He knew the answer to his question before he voiced it, but he felt compelled to ask all the same.

“Patton, are we leaving anyone behind that we shouldn’t?” _Is my mother alive? Is yours?_

Patton did not answer at first, and he did not turn to look at Logan. He kept silent for several long moments, as if he were trying to extend the time for which Logan was allowed to believe that Sybil and Priscilla could be saved. But that time could not last forever. They both knew it. When Patton spoke, it was a choked noise, ground out through gritted teeth—one single word that confirmed the world to be just as dark a place as Logan expected.

“No.”

***

_ Torrac; Lyra Galaxy. Common Wartime Year 23. Virgil Nil. _

“You’re late,” Virgil snarled as a lanky teenager slid into the seat across from him at yet another seedy cantina. There was no real venom in his voice, though, and his companion knew it; they both knew Virgil had a soft spot for the kid.

“Yes, well, you neglected to tell me that your new employer would be such a _joy_ to deal with.” 

The kid still talked like his parents—like an uppity aristocrat. Like a high-ranking Legion official. Virgil knew he should have trained it out of him by now; he’d been looking after the kid for—what—a year now? It was negligent, and he knew it, but the idea of training the young man out of his natural speaking habits just didn’t sit well with Virgil, so he’d put it off. The kid was born with a skin deformity that made his skin pale and sickly—much like Virgil’s own if he were honest with himself—so if he hid his markings and covered up his black fingernails with gloves, he could hide his C’Klanii race when in Native company to a point. But if he opened his mouth, it was over. Still, his upbringing prior to having met Virgil did come in handy on the job. Virgil got by as a bounty hunter for wealthy C’Klanii folks. It was not something he was proud of, but jobs were very limited for Natives on Torrac. He didn’t let the kid get involved in actual hunts, but C’Klanii employers were more willing to deal with one of their own than a filthy Native like Virgil.

“Don’t be a smartass,” Virgil retorted with a roll of his eyes before adding more seriously, “that bad, huh? He didn’t try to hurt you, did he?”  
  
The kid folded his arms across his chest and shot Virgil a fond smirk. He did not need to check under the table to know that Virgil’s hand had gone instinctively to his gun in its holster. 

“No. He made his threats, I dutifully played the part of the frightened child in over his head, and off I waltzed with your assignment.” 

Damn if the kid didn’t sound awfully proud of himself. Virgil wished he would take his own safety a bit more seriously, but he knew there was very little chance of convincing him, given the boy’s history.

“Threats? Why the fuck was he threatening you? You were there to pick up a job, not mug him.”

“It appeared as though our esteemed benefactor did not appreciate my attitude.”

The kid’s tone was still smug, but his expression was hesitant—he knew that Virgil hated when he ran his mouth and got himself into trouble. He was lucky that the bounty hunter simply didn’t have the energy to rip him a new one today. Instead, he leveled his charge with a long-suffering look and sighed deeply into his drink.

“Look, Janus,” Virgil started, and struggled to keep his own expression neutral as he noticed the kid wince in response to his first name. Virgil knew he was not overly fond of any reminders of his parents—and that included the name they’d given him—but sometimes using it was the only way to get his attention. “You know by now what kind of talk makes them angry, and you’re antagonizing them on purpose. I’m not going to send you on any more jobs if you keep putting yourself in danger.”

The kid bristled a bit at the accusation, but perked up considerably at Virgil’s last statement.

“There may no longer be a need for jobs after this one,” he said excitedly. “At least not for a while. It’s a lot of money, Virge. It will be your biggest hunt by a mile.”

Virgil wasn’t nearly as excited as the kid was at the prospect of a big money job. Everyone knew that big money bounties were always Natives, and almost always suspected resisters. Virgil largely tried to stick to C’Klanii criminals, and when he was forced to hunt a Native bounty, he would make sure that the “crime” was not one punishable by death or torture. He had no interest in being any more complicit in the oppression of his own people than he had to be. Before he’d found the kid, he’d always wished he were brave enough to walk away from it—starve to death if that’s what he had to do. But now…well, now there was Janus to consider. Regardless, it still made him sick to his stomach.

“What did I tell you about big jobs?” Virgil asked through his teeth.

“I know, I know. But aren’t you sick of living like this? Don’t think I don’t notice how little you _eat_ , Virgil. You cannot support two people on small bounties, and I am tired of being a dead weight to you.”

Virgil sighed. “You’re not dead weight, kid. And I manage just fine. I take enough blood money as it is; I don’t want to be swimming in it.”

“Will you just _look_ at the assignment?” the kid practically begged him. “Maybe it’s not as bad as you think.

Irritated, Virgil grabbed the electronic pad from the kid’s hands. 

“If I look at this, and I tell you it’s not worth the money, we drop this subject—do you understand?”

The kid nodded, knowing better than to push his luck. Virgil sighed once again and switched the pad on, revealing in blood-red letters the name of his newly assigned bounty. Virgil’s eyes were as wide as saucers as he looked back up.

“Oh, _fuck no_.”

***

_ Kore; Lyra Gallaxy; Common Wartime Year 23; Roman Erilleyan. _

Roman had been sweeping the floor of the bar when he saw the usual boy drop a stack of newspapers on the front step. Normally, he would wait a sufficient amount of time before asking for a break so as not to be obvious about the reason, but he had a gut feeling that today would _finally_ be the day. Granted, he had had the same gut feeling many, _many_ times in the past to no avail, but he would not let that dismal fact quash his hope. Today he would have news of his family. He just knew it.

“Mr. Kenner!” Roman called to the bar manager, who was likely passed out somewhere upstairs. “I’m taking my fifteen!”

Upon receiving no answer, Roman ran to the front door and swiped a paper from the top of the stack, locking up the bar so as not to be interrupted. He took the paper inside the broom closet with him just to be safe; after all these years, the caution that Valerie had begged him to have was still there at the back of his mind, always. _No one can ever find out who you are._

He eagerly unfolded the paper, and as fortune would have it, there it was—right on the front page.

**_ Sighting: Fugitive Former Oberonian Queen Hippolyta and Duke Remus of the Disgraced Erilleyan Family in the Southwest Region of Torrac. Citizens Ordered to Report Any and All Sightings and Information Leading to Capture to Their Nearest Legion Outpost. _ **

“Momma,” he whispered, suddenly feeling four years old again, transported to a time when he was Crown Prince Roman Erilleyan rather than barkeep Rory Grey. “Remus.”

It didn’t matter, not really. Roman knew there was no real chance of seeing his family again. That all he could hope for was that his mother and twin brother would not be spotted a second time, that they would remain alive and free. He tried to dispel the pang of jealousy in his chest at the confirmation that Remus and his mother were together, while Roman was alone, in the same galaxy but on an entirely different planet. He knew he could never go to them. The C’Klanii had long since banned the use and possession of aircrafts, and even if they hadn’t, to attract attention to himself would be deadly, both for him and his surviving family. No, he would never be with them again, but at least they were alive. It was a small comfort, but a comfort all the same.

Roman folded the newspaper back up, returned it to its spot on top of the pile outside, and returned to his sweeping, daydreaming of a life he might have had if things had been different. The C’Klanii had taken everything from him, but they could not take away the lovely life he had built for himself in his own imagination. At least there, if not in reality, he would be with Momma, Remus, and even Poppa again.

The dreams were all he had left.

***

_ The Sybil; Egen Galaxy. Common Wartime Year 23. Patton Pryte. _

Patton and Logan did not speak for a long while after Patton had confirmed that both Logan’s and his own mother were gone. He had not wanted to do that—to take more away from Logan when he had clearly already lost so much. But he was not willing to lie to him, not when he had already done so much to damage the trust between them, however inadvertent that had been. 

When the Sybil had broke free of Iolara’s atmosphere, they were suddenly plunged into darkness, with countless unobstructed stars filling the space around them. Patton and Logan had talked about flying into space when they were children. The stars were Logan’s very favorite thing in the entire universe. And Patton’s very favorite thing was Logan. So the idea of launching themselves into space, where Logan could look at all the stars he wanted without having to wait for a clear night, thrilled them both. They had both assumed that Logan would build the ship, being as brilliant as he was, and that Patton would pilot it so that Logan was free to stare out the large windows they had envisioned and study the stars to his heart’s content.

Well. Here they were. Logan had not built their ship—the war had taken that away from him. But Patton had built it for them. It had been largely for Logan, even when Patton had believed his friend was dead. The massive windows, perfect for stargazing, were a testament to that. Patton glanced over his shoulder at the Cyborg, wondering if he was thinking of their childhood plans, too, now that Patton was steering their ship and Logan was left standing by the windows.

For all Patton could tell, Logan was not thinking anything at all. He was not even looking at the stars. His good eye was trained on the ground, as if he had not given himself permission. The sight threatened to bring tears to Patton’s eyes. He cleared his throat to banish them; this was not the time for Patton to break down. The novice pilot knew he still had a lot to answer for.

“If you want to know what happened to them…I’ll tell you anything you want to know,” Patton offered awkwardly, unsure of what else he could say. _Do you want the stories of how our mothers died?_

“Not yet.”

Logan’s answer was so soft it was almost inaudible. Patton nodded. He would not burden Logan with gruesome details before he was ready for them. He could do at least that much. Patton cleared his throat again, knowing there was so much he needed to say, and not knowing how to go about any of it.

“Logan, I didn’t know that Orin Hoort was your…” _Owner. Slave driver. Prison warden._ “manufacturer. I swear I didn’t know.”

Patton had turned his attention back to the space in front of him, despite the fact that the ship could fly ahead straight on its own for a good long while, so he could not see Logan’s face. Regardless, he sure as hell could hear the tightness of his voice.

“That is not possible. You sold me out. You _told him_ I had tried to contact you. There is no other logical explanation.”

Patton blanched at that. No wonder Logan was so angry, so hurt. Not only did he believe that Patton had willingly ignored his cry for help, but also that he had gone to Dr. Hoort, who had obviously been—at the very least—quite cruel to Logan for all these years and _sold him out_. Patton felt like he was going to be sick. 

“How could you think I could ever do that to you?” he managed to choke out, still pretending that he needed to keep his eyes forward to avoid looking at the Cyborg.

“How could I…because I suffered the consequences!” Logan’s whisper had turned to a shout now, his voice shaking with emotion. “Did you think nothing would happen? That he would let me get away with reaching out for help? He _told me_ that you contacted him, that you’d told him about my comm. Do you want to know what he did to me then, Patton?”

Logan’s voice bordered on deranged now, his pain was so great, beyond anything Patton had any capacity to comprehend. His friend had suffered, suffered _severely_ , and even though he had not known it at the time—he hadn’t known a _thing_ —it was entirely Patton’s fault. 

Patton wanted to say no. He didn’t want to hear about what had happened to the most important person in his life because of his own carelessness, his own stupidity. He didn’t want the pain he knew was coming. But it was not Patton’s decision to make. He had no right to refuse the consequences Logan was about to lay down at his feet. He set the ship on autopilot but did not turn around to face the Cyborg. He turned his face down toward his lap and scrunched his eyes shut, anticipating the agony that was inevitably coming. When Logan did speak, it was in a terrible, strained monotone that made Patton wish he would yell at him some more.

“He took my _limbs_ , Patton. He got out his goddamned toolbox and detached my arms and my legs, and because I am programmed for _obedience_ , there was nothing I could do about it. He dragged what was left of this pathetic body and locked it in the attic. No windows, no light at all. I was in complete and total darkness, unable to move, with no idea how much time was passing or when a new day started. I sat there alone with nothing to do but think about…about how the one person could have…about how _you_ not only stopped caring about me entirely—that I could understand—but how you _hated_ me enough to want me punished, I…I thought I would go insane. I think I may have, for a time. I found a newspaper when I was finally let out—when my limbs were finally returned to me. I had been up there for roughly seven months.”

Patton was completely helpless to stop the tears from coming now. He did not know what he had been expecting Logan to tell him, but it had certainly not been that. Logan had been trapped in the dark for _seven months_ , stripped of his own body parts, and left to contemplate his so-called best friend’s horrific betrayal. Patton was unsure he would ever forgive himself for allowing this to happen.

He cried for what seemed like ages, and Logan said nothing. When Patton finally pulled himself together, he took a deep breath and finally left his controls and walked over to where Logan was now sitting cross-legged against the wall and staring at nothing in particular. Patton sat down directly in front of the Cyborg and forced himself to look the other man directly in the eye as he spoke. Because Logan deserved an explanation at the very least.

“I know that you have no reason to trust me. You’ve been through so much and…and you were _tortured_ because of me.” Patton winced as he said the word “tortured,” but it was true; what Logan had described was torture, and Patton doubted it had been an isolated incident. “But I swear on my mother’s soul that I am telling you the truth now.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed at that. If nothing else, Logan had to know just how serious a vow that was—there was no question that Patton loved his mother.

“When I got your comm, it was like getting a message from a ghost. Of course I thought of you, of that night. How could I not? I should have trusted my gut—I should have _known_ that it was you. But Logan, as far as I knew, your mother had buried you in the backyard. I sat by your grave every single day. You were _dead_. I really believed that. So I responded to the comm. I had to be sure. And Dr. Hoort comm’ed me back. I asked him about the comm, and he told me it had been a mistake, something meant for someone else. So I accepted that it was the world’s largest coincidence, and I stopped asking questions.”

Patton took a breath to continue speaking, but Logan interrupted in a hushed, almost awed whisper.

“He found the communicator,” he said, and then paused for a long moment, his mind obviously racing. “I…I took it apart, hid the pieces. I did not think he would ever…”

Logan’s eye met Patton’s, and it was clear that the Cyborg believed him.

“You…you didn’t know…”

“ _No_ ,” Patton agreed eagerly, desperate for Logan to know he had not willfully abandoned him. “No, Logan, I didn’t know. I probably should have. I should have looked for you the moment I got that comm. If I had known…if I had known you were _so close…_ ”

Patton could not continue, as he had dissolved into tears once again. He had utterly failed his best friend. How different both of their lives could have been if he had found Logan, if he had rescued him from Dr. Hoort and gotten him out of Iolara long before now. How much pain could they both have been spared if Patton had only thought to try?

Patton jumped as he felt something cold and hard on his hand, and he opened his eyes to see Logan’s metallic fingers covering his own. When he looked up to meet the Cyborg’s expression again, it was largely impassive, but when he spoke, he did so with gravity and purpose.

“You did not know.”

And maybe it wasn’t forgiveness. But it felt like a start.


End file.
